First To Fight (The Empire's Corps Book 11) (13 page)

“Fuck,” I said.

I exchanged irked looks with Posh, then walked out of the house and back towards the entrance.  A couple of recruits shot at me, which was pointless, but then they had to be sure I was genuinely out of the match.  (Or maybe they were just rubbing it in.)  I tried to see Joker and the others, yet I saw nothing until I reached the entrance.  Viper was standing there, slightly apart from the others, while Smartass was doing push-ups under Bainbridge’s watchful eye.  I guessed he hadn't waited until we were back in the barracks before trying to tell Viper
precisely
what he thought of him.

It was nearly half an hour before Bainbridge finally declared us the victors - Joker and his team, it seemed, had managed to eliminate everyone left after the knife-edge battle.  I cheered them as loudly as anyone else as they emerged from the woods, swinging their hips in a manner that would probably have invited a kick anywhere else.  Bainbridge glanced down at a terminal in his hand, then coolly started to outline all of our mistakes.  Three had run forward too fast, One had tried to be clever and Two - us - had made the mistake of splitting up into three separate forces, none of which could assist the others.  In the end, Joker and his two comrades had won only by sheer luck.

“If there had been only two squads, it might have made things more interesting,” Bainbridge said.  “Did any of you consider a prospective alliance?”

I shook my head.  I’d assumed we weren't allowed to make alliances ... although, now I thought about it, I recalled it had never been specifically forbidden.  Gangs on Earth had made alliances all the time, even though none of them had lasted very long.  Why
couldn't
we have tried to make an agreement with One?  Or Three?

They would have stabbed us in the back as soon as we beat the other squad
, I thought. 
Or we would have stabbed
them
in the back.

“There are times when you will have to make short-term alliances with factions already on the ground,” Bainbridge said, shortly.  “Of course,
this
time we deliberately made it harder for you to talk before it was time to start shooting.  Next time ... well, let’s see what happens, shall we?”

We went through the whole exercise several times more before we were marched back to the Chow Hall for dinner.  It was a fun experience, although it was also some pretty serious training; we learned the advantages of taking cover, of maintaining a distance, of everything else we’d need to know by the time the bullets started flying.  By the time we entered the Chow Hall, we were tired and yet happy ...

Joker poked me as a new set of recruits entered the hall.  “Look at them, Stalker,” he said.  “Did you ever see such a line of boobs?”

I stared.  They wore the same uniforms ... but they were utterly out of shape.  They stumbled along instead of marching, they looked fearful and ill-prepared ... they looked like we must have done, only a month or so ago.  I felt a flicker of disgust at their dishevelled appearance, wondering how their Drill Instructors refrained from tearing off their heads and pissing down their necks ...

“We probably looked worse than that,” I said.  One of the recruits even had his belt on the wrong way round.  Another had forgotten to apply shaving cream the previous night.  I dreaded to
think
what I would have been called, at inspection, if I’d looked so scruffy.  “They’ve only just started.”

“Bainbridge would have booted us out if we looked like them,” Joker said.  It was an article of faith among each of the training platoons that
they
had the roughest, the toughest, the all-around nastiest Drill Instructor.  “And Nordstrom would have kicked our asses.”

“Probably,” I agreed.  “And if we’re not careful, we’ll probably be recycled back to join them.”

Chapter Thirteen

There’s a very old saying that basically boils down to ‘hard training, easy mission; easy training, hard mission.’  The Marine Corps works hard to make training as realistic as possible, deliberately slanting the deck against the new recruits.  In theory, this assists the recruits to handle the (presumably) easier missions they will undertake as qualified marines.  However, it is impossible to prepare for all contingencies ...

-Professor Leo Caesius

My first sight of the aircraft did not inspire confidence.

Indeed, I hadn't really
seen
a proper aircraft, outside flicks, for my entire life.  The airbus that had flown me to the spaceport on Earth was an antigravity craft; the shuttle that had taken me to Mars was a spacecraft.  I believed, from what I’d been taught at school, that aircraft had been banned on Earth years ago for polluting the atmosphere, something I learned later was a minor attempt to come to grips with the ecological collapse that had rendered large parts of the planet uninhabitable.  The craft in front of me looked as though it was on its last legs, within bare minutes of falling apart.  I really
didn't
want to climb inside.

I had no choice, of course.

“Before you graduate,” Bainbridge informed us, “you will have to qualify for a jumper badge from both atmosphere and orbit.  This, your very first jump, will be made from this aircraft and you will be expected to do nothing, beyond jumping out of the plane.  The parachutes are completely automatic, crammed with” - he spat - “
civilian
-grade safety features.  If something happens to the main parachute, the secondary parachute will unfurl instead; if something happens to the secondary parachute, an automated antigravity system will come online and save your worthless hides.  There are
civilians
who do this for fun, every day, so you lot should have no trouble at all.”

I swallowed.  “There are people who do this for
fun
?”

“I used to jump from low orbit,” Posh said.  He didn't sound as though he was boasting, although it was pretty obvious that it was a rich man’s sport.  “It’s great fun provided you handle it properly.”

Viper threw me a nasty sneer.  “What’s the matter, Stalker?  Having doubts?”

I was, of course, but I was damned if I would admit it to him.  Viper was growing worse and it was all I could do to convince Joker and the others not to arrange a nasty accident.  It didn't help that
someone
had given him a push in the shower, which had given Viper a black eye and the rest of us an extra hour of punishment exercises.  I honestly felt like giving up on him; perhaps, if we all complained to the Drill Instructors, we could have him removed from the squad.  He was nothing more than a load.

“Silence,” Bainbridge bellowed.  He glared us into submission, then continued.  “The jumpmaster will check your parachutes before you step up to the hatch, but you will not be pushed out into the air.  If you are unable to take that step, recruits, there’s no shame in admitting it.  Parachute diving has defeated bigger and stronger men than yourselves in the past.  Just step back from the edge, sit down on the bench and wait for the plane to return to the ground.”

It wasn't a pleasant thought.  On one hand, the whole concept of falling from an aircraft towards the ground was utterly fucking terrifying.  But on the other hand, I didn't want to fail, not like this.  No one would make fun of me for being unable to take the jump; they wouldn't have to, not when I would be recycled back to phase one if I didn't quit.  I’d torment myself more than anyone else possibly could.

“Pick up and don your chutes,” Bainbridge ordered.  “Once you have checked them, check your partner’s chute and then proceed to the plane.”

“Don’t worry,” Posh said, very quietly.  “I pissed my pants the first time I took a dive too.”

I glowered at him, then checked his parachute.  It looked good, as far as I could tell; I later learned the parachutes genuinely
were
civilian models, slightly modified.  Later, we’d start training on standard military-grade parachutes, designed to open at low attitude.  A mistake with one of
those
could send us slamming into the ground before we had a hope of recovery.

They even told us to leave our rifles behind
, I thought.  We still carried our pistols, but we’d been told to leave the rifles in our storage lockers.  It was unusual - and worrying.  Normally,
not
carrying one’s rifle was a serious offense, punished with dozens of push-ups.  For us to be told to leave them behind ... 
They must be worried about losing them
.

Bainbridge wasn't leaving anything up to the jumpmaster.  He checked our chutes as we filed past him and onto the plane.  Compared to the shuttle, it was barren; it took me a moment to realise that we were meant to sit against the bulkheads (not an easy task with our chutes) and wait for takeoff.  There were no windows, something I found oddly reassuring, even though others clearly found it claustrophobic.  A large hologram of a pretty woman appeared the moment the hatches were banged closed and started to run through a safety lecture, but almost none of us paid attention.  We were too busy contemplating what was to come.

The engines started, sending shivers running through the aircraft.  I braced myself, unsure of what to expect, as the aircraft started to move, then surged forward so hard I grabbed hold of the handles and held on for dear life.  It tilted sharply, then roared into the sky; I felt my ears pop as it wobbled from side to side, climbing rapidly.  I couldn't help thinking that God was angry with us for daring to fly, slapping gusts of wind against the aircraft.  Later, of course, I learned that Mars had uncomfortably strong turbulence in the upper atmosphere.  But it still beat flying through a hurricane.

“You will not be expected to guide your descent,” Bainbridge said.  He ignored the sound of someone being sick at the back.  “All you have to do is take a step out of the aircraft and drop like a stone.”

I wished he hadn't said that.  The butterflies in my stomach were mating and producing little baby butterflies.  I told myself that it was fine, that I was wearing a civilian parachute, that civilians would bitch like anything if something went wrong ... and yet, it was hard to even think about standing up and walking to the hatch.  The deck was shaking so badly - the aircraft shuddered every three minutes, as if someone was timing the turbulence - that I wasn't sure
anyone
could stand up without losing his balance moments later.

“There’s no ground-fire,” Nordstrom added.  “Nothing reaching up to swat you from the air, just ... a safe and easy descent to the ground.  You’ll be back in barracks before you know it.”

“And there's no shame in declining to jump,” Johnston concluded.  He seemed to have forgotten that he was meant to be one of the disciplinarians.  “You can sit back down and no one will think any less of you.”

The hatch opened with an almighty
bang
.  It was hard to see much, from where I was sitting, but I could hear the sound of the wind rushing past as the aircraft entered the jump zone.  The jumpmaster stood, carefully hooked himself onto the plane, then peered out into the atmosphere.  He was hanging bare millimetres from a lethal fall, linked only by a line thinner than a piece of string, yet he seemed completely calm.  And he wasn’t even wearing a parachute!

“All right,” he called.  “Who’s up first?”

Nordstrom stepped up to the hatch and jumped.  It was so quick that I barely saw it.  He’d just jumped and vanished!  The jumpmaster made a thumbs up sign, then nodded to Bainbridge, who jabbed a finger at the first victim.  Focus, an older recruit from Squad One, stood, shuffled towards the hatch and perched on the edge of oblivion.  I watched, unable to take my eyes off him, as he toppled forwards ...

The jumpmaster caught him.  “Jump out, don’t fall,” he ordered.  “Try again?”

Focus gave him a nasty look - rather ungratefully, I felt - and leapt into the atmosphere.  The jumpmaster watched him, gave another thumbs up, then nodded.  Bainbridge chose a second jumper, then a third; he was stabbing at us at random, rather than letting us form lines or jump out by squads.  I think he was trying to make it easier on us, but I didn't feel very reassured.  It might have been better if we had done it by lines ...

My body didn't want to move when Bainbridge pointed at me.  It was all I could do to stand up, to walk forward; I hadn't been this nervous when I walked into the unarmed combat pit for the first time.  But then, I hadn't really known what to expect.  Here, I knew all too well.  I took my place behind Hope and watched as first Totem, then Hope stepped up to the hatch and jumped into the air.  Moments later, their parachutes blossomed into life, slowing their falls.  I already knew, from the safety briefing, that the men on the ground would find them at once and get them back to the waiting room.  They’d also have a chance to change their pants, if necessary.

“You’re up,” the jumpmaster shouted. 

I could barely hear him over the wind.  It was hard, incredibly hard, to inch up to the hatch and stare down towards the landing zone, far below.  I had known, intellectually, that planets were big, yet now I grasped it emotionally for the first time.  Mars is only half the size of Earth, but there’s no such thing as a ‘small’ planet.  The landscape spread out below me was terrifyingly huge.

“Jump,” the Jumpmaster ordered.

I hesitated, completely frozen.  I wanted to dive back into the plane, to hide from the vast landscape below me, to surrender to my fears.  My mind was already coming up with excuses; I’d been born in the CityBlocks, I’d been taught to fear open spaces, I had nothing to be ashamed of ... I could go ... go where?

I threw myself forward in an undignified tumble.  Gravity asserted itself at once and I plummeted down, straight towards the landing zone.  I felt hot liquid in my pants as I lost control of my bladder, convinced - at a very primal level - that I was about to die. And then there was a terrifying jerk and my fall slowed, rapidly.  When I glanced upwards, I saw the orange parachute safely deployed above my head.

I will not be beaten by this
, I told myself.  I might have pissed my pants, but I’d done it.  I’d survived the urge to just give up, to put my tail between my legs and go home.  But then, I had no home to go back to.  Would it have been easier to quit if I’d had somewhere to go?  I didn't want to know.  Instead, I made myself a silent promise. 
I will not be beaten at all
.

The descent became almost relaxing as I slowly grew used to the wide open landscape.  It was almost a shock when the ground came up and I landed, the parachute falling around me as I touched down.  I untangled myself from the backpack, crawled out from under the canopy and looked around.  The jump zone was in the middle of a grassy plain, covered with the red weed that gave Mars its breathable atmosphere.  I started to fold up the parachute, as per instructions, as I saw the aircar racing towards me.  The ground crews had been waiting for us.

“You made it,” Hope called.  We might have been in different squads - and bitter enemies on the training grounds - but we were united today.  “That was fun, wasn't it?”

I scowled.  “I need to change my pants,” I grumbled.  There was no point in trying to hide it, not when there was a visible stain running down my legs.  “Where do we go to do that?”

“There’s spare uniforms in the base,” the driver assured me.  “You’ll be fine.”

Only three of us, it seemed, refused to make the jump.  They were taken back down in the plane, then hurried off by the Drill Instructors and - by the time we returned to barracks - their bunks had already been stripped bare.  We never saw them again, although I later learned that one of them had gone on to be a military policeman and another had become a surprisingly successful Civil Guardsman.  Boot Camp was so intensive that the other military branches were quite happy to take our rejects, provided they quit rather than broke one of the rules and were kicked out.  It was one of the ways the marines quietly gained influence over the other services.

“Congratulations,” Bainbridge said, as we gathered after a quick change of clothes.  I wasn't the only one who’d had an unfortunate accident on the way down.  “You have just endured the most terrifying experience in Boot Camp until we start practicing in zero-gee.  Now ... all you have to do is get up there and do it again.”